Not Alone in Feeling Alone
by Wirogmaraf
Summary: In English Highschool, everyone has problems. Some big, some small, they're always there. Each chapter will be written as a diary entry in the voice of each character (based off of the 12 beta-trolls) explaining their daily issues and how each person ties together. *TRIGGER WARNINGS WILL BE POSTED AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH CHAPTER, IF ANY* (yes there will be ships)
1. INTRODUCTION

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _This first chapter is more of an introduction, nOT AN AUTHOR'S NOTE BECAUSE I KNOW WE CAN'T DO THOSE IT'S LEGIT JUST AN INTRO TO THE STORY._

 _Basically, I'm taking the 12 beta trolls and putting them all in a highschool and having them write journal entries about their lives. All the chapters will be of the characters writing out their feelings and emotions about the day, and no I will nOT write in their typing quirks because that's just way too much work and I'm a lazy ass. Just saying, there WILL be some triggers, but I will put all the warnings at the beginning of each chapter so that you can decide if you would like to read it or not._

 _Anyways, enjoy! :o)_

Everyone has their problems.

But that's what makes us all so beautiful, our issues. The way we can cope with them (and the way we can't), how dramatic the problem is, and how sickening the outcome could be. Some might seem bigger from the perspective of one person, and smaller from the one of another. Some problems last a few days, others last a lifetime. Some hurt people, some benefit people. It all depends on the person, the time, and the ones surrounding them.

At English Highschool, the hallways are crowded with smiling masks, all hiding scowls, tears, and blood. Each face is different, each shirt is different, each person is different. The only thing they wear the same is that they think that they're alone in feeling alone.

Some can't help getting frustrated over the smallest of things, while others had turned their honest smiles into depressed glances.

One might have just had his life changed in the worst way possible, while another one wants to laugh one second, and kill himself the next.

A girl could have some obvious issues that she wears on her chest, while another girl could be hiding all her confusion under a smile.

Some people make up for their lack of confidence with booze, while other people hide their true life under their persona of a bitch.

A boy can hide his true feelings under a mask too strong for his own good, while eyeing the boy who just can't help himself into addiction.

A person might be able to accept that he's alone forever, but another might never stop trying to swim her way away from life.

They live that way, accepting their personal dilemmas 24/7. Looking around, they might realize that they're not alone at all, yet many fail to take a moment to do that until it's too late. They're too busy writing their lives down in books too small to hold their every thought, but too big to hold their hopes.

Let's read.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Hi, it's moi again._

 _My roommates fan fell out the window when I was writing this. It's currently 10:56._

 _Also yES I KNOW THAT THIS IS REALLY SHORT I JUST WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING TO GET STARTED!_

 _(this will also really be a sadstuck)_

 _I know that i said that I'd do a Feferi x Eridan, Aradia x Sollux, and Eridan x Sollux story, and I'm working on it! I just decided I'd like to get started on this one, too._

 _Anyways, I love all of you! Thanks for all the support! :0)_

-Wirogmaraf


	2. Less Than Pain (KARKAT)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Sorry, this took me a really long time to write for some reason. Basically, I just started to develop the idea for I wanted highschool-bound Karkat to think. I've also been really busy, as usual, but I've been finding time. Karkat is always really fun to write, so that's good. Hopefully you can understand this, because I tend to go on and on about things that nobody cares about or understands. I kinda feel like that's how KK works tho._

 _Ugh._

 _Anyway, here are the TW and all:_

WARNINGS

 _\- Swears, of course_

 _\- Kind of suicide? Like it mentions it but no one ever does it or self harms (SO **NO** SELF HARM TRIGGERS i.e. cutting)_

 _\- I mean, mentions of eating disorder, too (also purposeful vomiting)_

 _\- Drug using/ fear of abuse (mentions of overdoses, describing withdrawal)_

 _\- Mental breakdown?_

 _Also, if you want a good sad song to listen to for this chapter, here's a link ig:_

 _watch?v=b8zfHhXfkfM_

 _Alright, that's it. Read on! :o)_

* * *

Dear fucking journal,

I hate life.

I hate everything about this fuckery: school, "friends", all this inspirational shit hanging in the hallways, taunting you just to _be nice_. It's really not that fucking easy, you know? These shits think that they're helping these teens by putting up simple messages with unrealistic expectations. If you actually look around, no one is "happy" goddamnit! They all want more, they all want help, which makes me so _angry_. These fucking kids want to die even though they have so much to live for.

It's not my fault that I'm... like this. I didn't ask to hate the world. I'm pretty sure that my unborn fetus self wasn't thinking, "Boy, I wish I would blow up at everyone I meet. That would be great."

Of course not! I just want to be a normal-ass human being (whatever that means) and live life. All I'm finding is plot holes in this sort-of never ending story. I'm always expecting for a thread to come loose and for the whole universe to unravel. Sometimes I just wish that would happen, if I'm honest.

(Honest is for pricks. I'm not a prick. I'm not a _fucking prick, okay_?!)

Anyways, I guess the entire reason I started writing this journal was to talk about my junior year at English Highschool. Kankri said it would be a "good idea", but so far, it sounds like shit. My hand already is cramping and I want to throw this entire Jesus Christening book out the window. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

First day of school and it's a hellhole, if you must know. Freshman were roaming the hallways, confused as fuck. One decided it would be a great idea to attempt to open my locker "on accident". If I could, I would've punched him straight in the nose (I'm not that strong, okay? I couldn't do that - fuck). Kids have got to learn their boundaries, right?

Why am I asking you questions, you're a fucking book.

I'm an idiot.

Do you know how annoying it is to see fourteen year old girls screaming because they haven't seen their friends for a few months? It's insane! Why the hell are people so important to others? We're all just soft, creepy, babbling animals that come up with radical ideas and call them "art" or "science". I hate it so much, I hate all of it. Hell, I'm not even sure that half of my friends even recognized me. I don't give a shit though, why would I?!

The only people who actually said anything to me (besides teachers: they have a thing for "troubled" kids like me) were Terezi and Gamzee. I had a relationship with Terezi in the 7th grade. It didn't last very long, but it was nice while it lasted I guess. She's this pudgy girl who now drinks too much alcohol so that all her brain cells are practically dead. I should feel bad for her, but I feel so frustrated. Why the hell can she swallow her emotions in a drink without her insides turning inside-out and I can't? Why is her body shape being praised online while I'm over here, watching the comments rolling in about how skinny I am.

It's not my fault. I'm not anorexic or whatever, it just happens. All these people out there, saying it's gross, or it's not healthy, need to get a life. It's how we both naturally are, yet she gets praise and I get hate? Bullshit.

All she had done was nodded at me when I first opened my locker after that kid left. That counts.

Gamzee and I have always been best friends. I don't really tell him that a lot, but I guess he knows it. Then it all changed in 6th or so grade.

I don't necessarily know when or where (or even how) it happened, but he got hooked on something. " _It's this motherfucking drug, alright? It makes you see stars and it's like... everything's alright, you know, motherfucker?_ "

No. I didn't know. I never did drugs. I still don't.

Long story short, he didn't stop. I felt so fucking bad, he didn't really deserve any of the things that happened to him. 6th grade was way too young for any sort of substance, and I really should have helped him. But I didn't. I'm a fucking cunt.

In 7th grade, he tried to stop. If you haven't seen withdrawal, well, it was terrifying. It was almost like he had lost his mind (for real). I thought he was going to kill somebody. I didn't know what to do, so I only did what I knew how to: I tried my best. I held his hand, and hugged him, and made up excuses for him when he was vomiting in the bathroom. I think that was the most I've ever done for one person, but I don't think it was enough.

I really should've told someone, or found him help instead of trying to handle it all on my own. He didn't need a kid to help him not be late to class, he needed medication, or actual counseling. But I didn't think of that, I guess, and a year later he started up again and he still hasn't stopped.

He asked me how my summer was. I said it sucked ass. He laughed. I wanted to die.

I didn't ask about his summer, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know the amount of overdoses, or the money he spent, or how Kurloz was able to watch his little brother break himself down. It sort of hurt. I hate it so much, I hate everything about this whole thing. I really should have realized how dumb I was being.

What a fucking idiot.

Anyways, my first period is English, which is always a good thing, I guess. I love romance novels for some reason. Outlander? Gold. Naked in Death? Gold. Eleanor & Park? Even _that_ is gold. Even though my eyes aren't set on love to come upon me and make my whole life a million times better (like _some_ people), it's still enjoyable to read about that idea. I know that junior year ELA revolves around a giant essay of choice, so of course I'm just going to write a work of fiction romance. There's no reason not to, right? People already make fun of me (too skinny, too angry, not caring enough, etc.), it couldn't really hurt for a little bit more. They say words are like poison, but that just means that you can build up an immunity to them. Sure, it's painful, but it's not like I'm going to die. I don't think I actually want to die, though it might seem like it. I just want to live happily. You can't live happily if you're dead.

My teacher is this creepy old woman who I'm 99% is perverted. As soon as I walked into the classroom, she put her hand on my shoulder like a fucking rapist, and said, "Welcome to 11th grade English, my dear."

 _My dear_. What a goddamn pervert.

I swear to God, no matter how old you get, teachers never stop doing roll call. It's actually quite infuriating, like most things in life. I really hate my name, and it's not other people's business to know it. My last name is fine I guess, there's nothing wrong about it. But it's my first name that really gets me: Karkat. I'm not a fucking furry, or a little for fuck's sake.

I used to be in this polyamorous relationship, you see? It started halfway through 9th grade and ended somewhere in 10th. The two kids, John and Dave, were some of the most interesting people I've ever met. John was so cute: Always excited, always laughing, always happy. Dave was just so enchanting (if that's the right word): Red eyes sending signals, smirking at every joke, always knowing exactly what to say to get people laughing.

I guess that was the happiest I've ever been. Holding their hands in the hallway, taking turns making out with each other, and even the small arguments over which house we should sleep at that night.

The thing that hurt the most about the whole breakup was that we didn't necessarily _break up_ , they just broke up _with me_. They're still together, and I don't think that that'll ever change. I don't really care, though. If I actually loved them, then I would want them to be happy. I _did_ actually love them, and they're happy. That's (not) okay with me.

I don't even remember my point.

Oh yeah, my name.

My whole point was that Dave used to call me "Karkitty", so yeah. It's not that original of an idea, so when people hear my name, they naturally say that nickname. It stings, but I can't really tell people that. I'm not a little kid as much as I'm not a kitten. Complaining just isn't something I do anymore. Why should I?! It's not like my problems are any worse than others. At least I knew what love felt like, at least I wasn't born with some disease, at least I'm not crippled, at least I don't want to kill myself. Those are the important people, people like that. I'm just alone and angry, that's all.

I swear to God, that's it.

Anyways, she said my name, people laughed and said "Karkitty" under their breath, and then she moved on. It could always be worse, like I said. There's this one kid, okay? Sollux Captor. Not really that bad of a name, yet he absolutely loathes it. It might seem confusing to some if they've known him for less than four or five years, but I know that up until seventh grade (because apparently that's when all the shit goes down) he had this terrible lisp, so he couldn't even pronounce his name right. Apparently it was some kind of tooth deformity that ran in the family. Poor kid. He had to have surgery when he was thirteen. Way worse problems than me, right? I swear to God, I'm the only kid in this fucking school who isn't constantly in physical or emotional pain. Somehow I guess it hurts the most.

What was I at again? Shit.

Oh, I remember.

We had to make this weird _All About Me_ essay just so we can "learn about the other kids" in our class, as if we haven't already known them for eleven years straight. There hasn't been a new kid in our school since sixth grade. I guess no one actually wants to go to _English Highshool_ or whatever. Fuck it.

Second period happened.

I wanted to die again.

(I don't actually want to die, I just like the concept, you know?)

I mean, each year I've convinced myself that I'm not going to get all triggered or whatever over small things, yet I always do.

I honestly wasn't expecting for this to happen. I wasn't expecting to have a class with Gamzee. I haven't been in a class with him since... that entire thing happened (fuck we were only thirteen, it's not okay, it's not okay, it's not okay). I wanted to cry the entire class period. At one point I was ready to run out of the room, out of the school, and out of the country. Then again, I'm not an idiot. _I'm_ not the one whose childhood was ruined and _I'm_ not the one who made one mistake that could cause me my life. It's _his_ problem, not mine. I have a way better life than him, so I shouldn't be feeling so fucking scared.

I was sick for the rest of the day. It felt as if someone had reached inside my stomach and flipped it upside down. My heart was beating like crazy, and I kept feeling as if I was about to pass out. I was thinking about seeing the nurse, but then I remembered how strange it would be to tell an old woman that I didn't feel well because I saw my ex-best friend. So I waited it out.

Kanaya noticed that I wasn't doing that well, and she tried to help (which is nice of her, it really is!). I rejected her, of course, 'cause that's what idiots like me do. We kill our best shot at a happy life.

The busride home sucked just as badly as I remembered it, which is kind of comforting. I mean, no matter how terrible or convenient a place is, as long as it's familiar, it's home. But then again, "home" is just a social construct created to make people feel like they're safe. There is no such thing as "home", just as there's no such thing as "happiness" or "sadness". Just because you can feel it doesn't mean it's real.

Here's another thought: Maybe none of us are real. Maybe we exist, but that doesn't necessarily mean that we're real.

Sorry, sorry, I know that this is just confusing and irritating. But then again, you're a fucking book. I can do whatever I want with you (as far as Kankri says).

I could rip you apart.

I could burn you.

Or... I could write out all my feelings and use you to vent.

Fuck, even this book has worse problems than me, no one ever listens to you, right? That must suck ass.

(Oh shit, Kankri just came into my room and told me to "stop crying because it's an inanimate object". Sorry.)

So, I guess I have a right to tell all my shit to you?

Fuck.

I guess I'll tell you something else about today that made me want to (not literally) die. It's going to take a while to get this all out of my brain. It hurts real bad to think about, let me tell you. All my organs, my skin, my eyes, and my bones feel like they're bleeding. I'm going to die writing this, so sorry if I don't get the whole story out.

Right after second period I ran straight out of the classroom. I slightly remember blacking out, and my eyes stinging, and my hands throbbing, and everything hurting. However, I definitely remember running straight into Equius Zahhak.

Equius is nice, I guess. I feel bad for him though, he's built himself up too much. He acts much stronger than he actually is.

He's really muscular though, which kind of scared the shit out of me. In the moment, I wasn't thinking straight. I saw my life flash in front of my eyes as I thought to myself, _I'm going to die_. He put a hand on my shoulder, and I was sure that he was going to kill me, so I started crying like a goddamn baby. He looked at me for a moment in disappointment before dropping his hand.

"Are you okay?"

Anger boiled in my stomach for whatever reason and my fists clenched. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_ , I really wanted to hurt him. I don't know why, I just did.

Even in the moment, I knew that I could never cause someone as strong as him actual physical pain. Instead, I cussed him out.

" _FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND YOUR LIFE. FUCK. GO EAT A FUCKING DICK YOU DUMB BITCH. YOU FUCKING CUNT. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?! MOVE OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY NEXT TIME, OKAY YOU FAGGOT? FUCK._ "

Looking back at it, I really shouldn't have lashed out like that. He looked pained, which is never a good sign. The only thing worse than hurting someone when they're laughing is hurting someone when they're already bleeding.

Sorry, Equius. I didn't really mean it.

Anyways, I guess I realized what I had done, so I ran away into the bathroom.

I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing I knew how to do (because that's what I do best, eh'?).

I dashed into one of the stalls and vomited my guts out. My stomach ached and my eyes watered, everything just wouldn't _stop hurting_. Even when I felt like I had finished throwing up, I forced myself to at least bring up bile. The taste was so foul that my tongue had gone numb and my entire body was shaking. I didn't really _want_ to stop, I think. I think I just wanted to get rid of all the emotions piled up, all the built up anger, so I just puked it all out. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but I...

What am I saying.

It _was_ a stupid idea. Fuck.

Anyways, I don't know how long I was there for, but I kept going through the first bell. Even after that, I was just sitting in the stall, crying. All I could see was his face, his laugh, his happy life decaying into nothingness. I could feel his hand in mine, his arms around me, his hope for everything to be okay being stored in my mind. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it, he didn't _fucking deserve it_.

I don't care about anyone.

But I don't want him to die. I want him to live. I'm fucking scared, alright? He's going to kill himself and that's not okay.

The part that upset me the most was that I know how I'll find out.

I'll walk into class and he won't be there one day, or the next, or the next. The teachers will be a little more reserved. Equius will be sobbing the entire day long. There will be more drug safety posters up around the school even though these kids do not need fucking po _STERS, THEY NEED FUCKING HELP_. It's driving me insane, goddamnit!

There will be no phone call, no huge assembly, nothing. I've _abandoned_ him, so why the hell should Kurloz ever call me? Not to mention, who wants to hear some sob story about a drug addicted kid who accidentally killed himself? Nobody.

Soon enough, he'll be forgotten about.

I couldn't stop crying. _He's not dying, he's not dead_ , I kept saying over and over again, but it wasn't helping.

He's not dead, not really. But in my mind, the Gamzee that he once was sure is. He's never coming back.

I had this whole mental breakdown thing until it was almost halfway through third period. Long story short, I got a detention.

(I don't need fucking detention, I need him to get fucking better)

I'll keep you updated on this whole shit, alright? I mean... I know you're a goddamn book and all, but that's not important. You're helping me put some of my thoughts in line, I think. It's just... easier.

What am I even doing? I'm talking to a piece of paper. Fuck. What a f _ucking idiot_!

Before I go, I just want to restate something so you don't forget it.

I hate life.

That doesn't necessarily mean that I love death, I just hate the way that life is structured. I hate the way people think. I hate the way words are supposed to make everything better. I hate how much I hate this whole thing.

I fucking hate life.

-Karkat

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _My friend helped me create that whole_ fuck you _shit against Equius. Sorry Eq. I love you. Don't be sadddd._

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this one chapter, and like always, reviews are always appreciated! (no hate though, but actual constructive criticism is absolutely fine)_

 _I swear to god that ill get that whole other fic about eridan and sol and fef and aradia finished and up soon. sorry for the waitttt_

 _Have a great day! I love you!_

 _(also since this fic is kinda sad, at the end of every chapter I'll add a link to a fun video/song)_

 _watch?v=sWoQqB1cVbg_

 _Thank me later._

 _\- Wirogmaraf_


	3. Smoke and Selective Truths (ARADIA)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Hello bitches. It is me again. Fuck._

 _we have a free period! heh - hell yea._

 _oof so okay.. sam is watching some sort of undertale shit... shoutout to sam. oh, okay. its about kanye. he has fingers in his ass. hell yeah._

 _okay, so anyway this is aradias chapter. shes a depressed bitch. cuz same. no not same. im not depressed. i hope. ooooooooooooooooooof_

 _Would you guys be interested in a nice ass thingy with um.. i have been informed that it is called a crack fic?_

 _Alright, I'll put the goddamn trigger warnings here because I promised that I'd do that. If you are like oh shit im suicidle pls dont read thank you here are sum tw:_

 _(the undertale shit expandsz)_

WARNINGS

 _\- Like, suicide. Attemption. There's a suicide attempt. (shooting self) (but like..doesnt)_

 _\- Mental health issues i.e. depression + bipolar stuff + insomnia_

 _-Okay it says like once about damara being a fighter like shes got sum frickin blood on her knuckles because i needed a metaphor_

 _-Oof okay like makeouts? like i guess you can persume they fuked but no actually make outs thx_

 _-ooh theres medication fOR those previosuly mentioned mental health issues thingssz_

 _-ditching class_

 _-they smoke hehehehe_

 _-ok like aradia says one sentence that could be perceived from the messed up minds of 13 year old peoples as an ED_

 _-sol has like cuts and the story mentions it like twice so oof_

 _-also for some reason theres like one swear no joke like sol says the word fuck once i dont know why that would be a trigger but im just putting it out there_

Hi also here is the sad/kinda song you can listen to its not really sad but its a perrrfect arasol song ooofigho hiusthl

watch?v=Ay7j3AnWWX4

THANKS BITCHES

* * *

Journal,

Hello.

I'm Aradia Megido, and apparently I'm supposed to write about my life. My therapist wanted me to do something like this so that she can read it and analyze it. I don't know why I can't just _talk_ to her, but that's okay. She's got plans, I think (or at least I hope so).

First day of junior year, I guess. I don't know if I'm ready. But then again, is anyone ever really _ready_ for whatever is happening next? It's not like you can just be happy that everything is changing. I think it's supposed to be a more melancholy feeling, but to me, I just feel terror. Life has gone flying by so quickly, it feels like I'll be dead by tomorrow.

I think the part that's been scaring me the most throughout the past few years is not _me_ dying, but those I _love_ dying. The worst pain isn't when you stub a toe, or when you accidentally bite your cheek. In fact, it's not physical at all. The worst pain is losing someone you can't live without.

And it's not necessarily _losing_ losing them. Sometimes they're gone before they're actually gone, if that makes any sense.

You know someone is actually, truly gone when the gleam in their eyes disappears and is replaced by a foggy haze. When they no longer have control of their emotions, when they're afraid that they're going to become irrational, and when the nights you spend with them are filled with more sorrow then smiles is when you know that they're really, truly gone.

It doesn't really hurt if you don't love that person, though. It just stings. In a few months, that sting will be gone and healed. But when you're committed, when you're in love with them, you can't just leave. The screaming in your head gets louder with each step away from them you get.

Even when he's joyful he's not okay. He doesn't know he's in pain and that's terrifying to me.

It's not like I have a right to be scared for him. I don't even have a right to be around him. I'm the one who made him this way.

I don't remember how long ago it really was, to be honest. It was before I started those pills, though, those "happy pills". I'm not sure what I was thinking about, or if I even had a reason to do what I did, but the aching in my chest was so heavy that it hurt to breathe and I just wanted for all of it to stop.

My sister owns weapons. She's a fighter, and owns practically every mechanism in existence that could kill somebody. So one day, I grabbed one of her hand-held guns and put it in my pocket. _For later_ , I had thought. _Later so I can have time to think about my last words_.

(If someone has to plan their last words, something's not right, okay? I'm going to tell you that flat. Planning death while living life is equally as toxic as watching the sunrise while waiting for nightfall.)

Anyways, that later had come when I was with him. We were both in his room, smiling and laughing like always. He used to be so dang happy, and so did I. I'm not really sure what happened.

I was sitting in his lap with my head against his chest. I could practically hear his heart beating, hinting that he was _alive_ and that he was _t_ _here_ and I was not as alone as I thought I was. I was holding his hand, just as a way to attach myself to him a little bit more. I could feel our connection circulating through our fingers as if it was electricity. Everytime he moved a jolt of lightning would slide down my spine, slick and hot and full of life. Heck, that lightning could kill me for all I cared. Anything he did I loved, even if it would hurt me in the long run.

Thinking about that, I turned around to look at him and the smile on his face. I grinned back just so he thought that I was happy. (If I acted fine, maybe he would think I was fine?)

His brother nor father weren't home at the time, so we could basically do whatever we wanted without getting caught. I decided it would be favorable to at least take a little advantage of that.

"Hey," I smiled.

"Hey," he responded.

I cocked my head at him. "Take off your glasses."

"..Why? I can't really see without them."

I sighed. "You won't need to see, just please, _take them off_."

He raised an eyebrow, yet proceeded to take them off and lay them off to the side. Before either of us really knew what was happening, I had crashed my lips into his. He paused in surprise for a moment before kissing back.

Getting lost in his lips, I realized what I wanted to say for my last words. It was a strange moment to think, _I want to die right now_ , but in my perspective, it was the perfect time to die. I was happy. Why die old and sad when you can die young and in love?

Determined to get my last stab at him, I pushed him to the ground so that I was lying on top of him. He went along with it, hands going to my sides to help me stay up. I could feel his fingers, light but warm, against my waistline. I wanted everything in that moment, everything in the world, and I wanted it all from him. I moved my mouth to his jawline and neck, kissing and licking a biting every inch of skin I could find. I took in all of the sweet sounds he made, wondering how much I'd miss them. But nevermind that, right? We were both there right then right in that second, and I wanted to take advantage of that. I let him put his hands a little higher, and everything after that was sort of a blur.

In that blur, I heard the words echoing around my head, the words I wanted to be my last.

I wanted them to be true.

I wanted them to be happy.

I wanted them to be meaningful.

The words I thought of checked off all of the above.

I embraced all of the feelings until they were all over. Even then, I just sat there, wrapped up in his arms, pretending that I wasn't going to do what I was planning on doing. I felt like crying, I honestly did. I felt like curling up even closer into his chest and sobbing my heart out. I felt like admitting everything. I felt like giving up on giving up. However, I knew that the pain in my soul would just grow and that my limbs will get heavier everyday and that he would eventually notice how I held my head a little differently than I used to, and worry. He likes to worry. It's almost like he enjoys being afraid at the thought of fear.

I wanted to keep him happy. In order to do that, I had to take out his largest source of negativity (not noticing that it was his only crutch of positivity), me. So I kept my tears at bay and kissed him once more, attempting to put my last existing breath of strength into him. I remember that in the moment, I had wondered if it was possible to give all of your hope to one person, because that was what I was attempting to do.

Anyways, it lasted less than 30 seconds before I had pulled back and announced that I was going to the bathroom. _I mean, that's something that human beings naturally do, right?_ I thought to myself. _It's_ _not sketchy. Even if it is, I'll be dead in a few moments. It won't matter_.

Nothing seemed to matter (nowadays, everything does).

I got up, but paused right before exiting the room.

"Sollux?" I had said. I remember his name feeling weird on my lips. He didn't like it, so I never said it. _Today is different_.

"Yeah?"

My breath suddenly felt shallow and fragile. I didn't trust my vocal chords to say all that I really, truly wanted to say. Instead, I just locked eyes with him and said, " _I love you. More than should be possible, I love you_."

Before he could respond, or before I could hear him tell me he loves me back (because that might have just been enough to change my mind completely), I ran out of the room and to the bathroom.

I had thought about how much I loved the Captors' house. It smelled so _nostalgic_ , if that's the right word. My house always smelled like blood. The blood never came from any of us, though. It usually came from Damara's knuckles where she had punched someone for "practice". _But here_ , I thought. _Here, is_ home _. It's the only place I can die happily_.

Pulling Damara's gun out of my pocket, I aimed it at my temple. My finger hovered above the trigger, but then I caught my eyes in the mirror. I saw all of the pain and despair, all of the self-doubt, all of the unneeded loss. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I saw how pathetic I was. Or, am.

I felt the sobs in the back of my throat, building up, and I didn't hold back this time. I felt the tears stream down my face and drain into my mouth so that all I could taste was salt. The gun wobbled in my shaking hand. Everytime I went to pull the trigger, I found that I had no strength. The weight of the gun was comforting before, but in that moment, it was just intimidating. I was too afraid. I was too afraid to live, and too afraid to die. I had nothing other to do than stand there and watch myself break apart, pushing a gun against my own temple. I heard that if you pressed on it hard enough, you'd die. _Perhaps I can just die that way_ , I thought. However, the moment I tried it, searing pain went through my entire body, as if I was struck by lightning. I let out a sort of scream, the sort of scream that you only hear in horror movies before someone gets murdered.

Then the world moved in fast motion. I heard my name, yelled in his voice. I tried to smile through the shock and pain, but only more tears came out. I didn't have enough time to register what was happening before he burst open the door, which I had forgotten to lock (un)fortunately.

I recognized it as my chance to shoot, yet I could only fiddle with the trigger. I had forgotten how to move my fingers. I had forgotten how to stop crying. I had forgotten why I was doing it and why I wanted to die and _who I was and what my purpose was and exactly everything about life_.

I had forgotten.

Before I was fully aware of what was going on, he seized the gun from me and chucked it down into the hallway, out of sight. He didn't even hesitate before grabbing both of my arms so tightly that it hurt. I was about to say something, but then I caught his eyes.

I had thought that the pain I had saw in my eyes with a gun pressed against my head was the worst pain I could see.

I was wrong.

The worst pain was not only the shock and sadness he showed, but the anger, the fear, the disappointment, and the actual anguish. He looked as if he wanted to scream, and his entire face was pure white. He had trusted my trust in him, I saw it. He trusted the fact that I said I would never let anything hurt him, even though here I was, shattering him into the nothingness he is today. (I just _couldn't stop crying_.)

His grip on me tightened as he cried, " _WHAT THE ACTUAL_ FUCK _, ARADIA?!_ " his voice cracking in the most painful-sounding way possible.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes closed. I could hear his staggered breathing, the breathing of a dying person. _My breath_.

"Just, tell me what the hell is wrong, okay?!" I stayed silent, knowing the answer. _Nothing and everything_ , I had thought. _Nothing ís significantly bad except that I feel that I'm dying slowly 24/7. I have one of the best lives possible, which might be one of the worse things. Why live if there's nothing to be happy about?_ "Aradia, please, just explain to me why you were going to.. explain to me why.. just _talk to me_!"

I felt sick with guilt. I wanted to throw up. The dizzying sensation of panic and life overpowering death in a fatal situation was almost too much. Not feeling the strength, nor the grist, to speak, I leaned into him, my tears wetting his shirt. He let go of my arms, and instead wrapped his around me. I felt his breath get shaky again as he buried his face into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered.

"Don't be. I see you've already got enough to worry about. Let's just.. make this better first, alright?"

I nodded, then stopped as a thought came to mind. "Sol?"

"Hm?"

" _Will_ it get better? At all?"

"I don't know. It has to, right? Time heals?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes time hurts."

He inhaled. "Please don't do it. _Please_ don't. I don't want to lose you."

My heart stopped in my chest. It hurt. His words hurt. They burned like a fire enflamed in my soul and stung like a wasp after having its nest disturbed. It was in that exact moment that I realized something, something I don't think that I'll ever forget.

 **Dying for someone is one thing, but living for them is another**.

* * *

Long story short, I hurt him. A lot. I apologized more than should be physically possible (there should definitely be a certain amount of apologies you're allowed to make). Unfortunately, "sorry" was not what he wanted. I could see the guilt eating him away until he was practically nothing except for a bundle of emotions not knowing what to do with themselves. He had nothing to be guilty about, and I kept telling him that, but he just wouldn't believe me. Each time one of use brought it up, arguments would sprout.

"I just shouldn't have let it come that far! I'm not supposed to let that happen," he would usually say.

"Well I'm not your responsibility! You shouldn't have to 'take care' of me or anything, alright?! I'm not a goddamn child!" I would usually respond back.

Then those conversations would just descend into chaos before one of us started crying. Then the other starts to feel bad, and everything is erased until the next fight. The only part I actually _like_ about these fights is ending up in his arms.

I don't know really what happened, but I guess he has pills now too. Happy pills, just like me.

(It's actually kind of funny. They aren't happy, they aren't happy at all. They don't even _make_ you happy, now that I'm thinking about it. They just make you slightly less sad. Being not-sad isn't being happy, the same way that the stars aren't the sky and being existent doesn't make you alive.)

We don't talk about the medication.

Maybe I shouldn't talk about it either.

* * *

Anyways, today was the first day of school. I slept over at his house last night, like always. I don't like being in the same house as Damara. I don't like being in the same house as anybody else, for that matter, except for him. Then, again, at least Mituna collects skateboards, not lethal weapons.

We keep to ourselves, mostly. I like to think that no one really knows we exist, because life is so much easier that way. The thought of nobody listening, nobody caring, is somehow extremely comforting. I'm pretty sure that the only couple of people who notice that we're alive is Equius Zahhak and Eridan Ampora. It's not like they noticed us in a good way, either. All they wanted to do was get with us, until we erased them from our memories and mind. Then, they just sulked for a few months before moving on to somebody else.

Committed, right?

The point is, we stayed up all night, kissing and crying and laughing in the most twisted way possible, just like messed up kids like us do. We looked online, stalking the more "popular", more "known", more "important" people than us. They don't have any worries, do they? They just cruise through life, not bothering to take their non-existent mental pills before going to school, or to not lose hope in hope itself when it comes to being happy, or to smile through brutal pain at their boyfriend when they notice a few more scars on his arm.

(The first couple appeared near the end of freshman year. They continued to multiply, even to this day.)

They don't have to worry about anything.

And that's entertaining to us, I guess. Why focus on my miserable life when I can live through the staged snapshots of others? As I said before, being existent doesn't make you alive, but there is one thing I forgot to mention: You can live through the mirage of an actual life by convincing yourself that you're really truly _real_. It's an illusion of hell, but a nice one. I'd rather that then see the flames.

He doesn't sleep much anymore, even less than he did a few months ago. I don't really _want_ to sleep much, if that makes sense. I would rather be there with him all night, every night. I would rather stare up at the stars than the clouds. The people who sleep are the people who don't look up at night so that they never see how many worlds are up out there. They're cowards, that's what they are. It's disgusting, pretty much. At least _I_ have the decency to acknowledge these worlds creating patterns on the dark curtain of visible sky, even if I don't do anything about them. Denial is worse than silence, I think. It's the difference between telling lies and telling the selective truth.

Morning came sooner than expected.

We swallowed our pills and got on the bus filled with tired children and dead life. He pulled out his phone and handed me one of his earbuds. We listened to some sort of playlist filled with meaningless music just to block out our racing thoughts.

I noticed people getting on with huge bags, fear coating their eyes. _Freshman_ , I'd thought. I made eye contact with one, before he quickly looked away like my glance was poison and would kill him in minutes. It stung, a little bit. I'm not going to lie. Before I could focus on being "happier" and "empathetic", the song changed and so did my thoughts.

I turned to him. "Do you _really_ want to go to class today?" I whispered to him.

He laughed a little bit. "No, not really. Are you asking me to ditch?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. A lot of people miss the first day of school, so I don't see anything wrong with it. We can just hide in like... the janitor's closet or something, alright?"

"Alright."

The rest of the bus ride wasn't anything special, it was just a bus ride. As soon as we got off, the two of us ran through the hallways, attempting to avoid familiar faces. We jumped inside of the janitor's closet and slammed the door behind us, locking it. It was pitch black, yet somehow I was able to find the wall so that I could lean against it in order to catch my breath. While doing so, I actually smiled.

"It's funny," I had said.

"What?"

"It's the first day of school, so it's not really that dirty in here. The floor's pretty clean. We're actually kind of lucky, for once."

I could hear him laugh, a little more than usual. "I guess, yeah. It's not that bad in here. Maybe today could actually be a good day." That's the thing about us two, we never start our day thinking it's going to be alright. We always start it thinking that it's going to be terrible and disturbing. That way, the happy moments seem happier and when something _does_ go wrong, we're not surprised or disappointed. It's kind of silly, too. The neutral days don't feel neutral, they feel like nothing at all (if that's even possible).

I slid my back down the wall so that I was sitting on the polished floor. He did the same, giving me the opportunity to lean my head on his shoulder and to take his hand in mine. He was warm, he's always really warm. I know that it's probably because he's a human and humans have body heat, but I like to think that it's because he holds a fire somewhere in his chest, and somehow, that fire will be able to charge me into the person I've always wanted to be.

"Aradia."

"Yeah?"

He reached into his pocket before pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Neither of us smoke, not really. It's sort of a one-in-a-time thing. Maybe twice every year, I guess. Anyways, he looked at me with this sort of _you want one_? look. I nodded slowly before pulling one out and studying it in my fingers.

It was unusually heavy, if that makes any sense. It's probably the drugs rolled up in it that make it feel so heavy, but I guess everything feeling heavy is what makes you feel high.

He handed me a lighter. I fiddled with it for a moment before figuring out how to light it in the dark. As soon as I saw the little flame pop up, I smiled to myself. Fire. I've always loved fire. I held it up a little, just to study the closet a little more. There were buckets, paper towels, and several different types of other cleaning supplies that I didn't know even existed. All of a sudden, he started laughing uncontrollably.

"What?"

"It's just.." he started to choke a little bit. "Why are we even in here?"

I pondered on the thought. In retrospect, it all seemed kind of random. There we were, sitting in a closet on the first day of school, about to smoke (not because we're _edgy_ , but because we're " _mentally ill_ ", whatever that means). Before I knew it, I was giggling too.

Once I calmed down, I put the cigarette in my mouth and lit it. I could feel the heat licking my cheeks and lips, but a little warmth never hurts, right? I inhaled, taking in the smoky taste before taking it out of my mouth and blowing out the clouds in the (now _almost_ ) dark.

I handed the lighter over and watched him do the same. I leaned into his arms a little more, just so that both of our breaths combined into one huge foggy mess. The tar eventually started to coat my lungs, and all I could hear for a solid 30 seconds was myself coughing. It hurt real bad, so bad that I couldn't breathe. However, I kept going. I kept inhaling the soot, allowing my eyes to water and my lungs to burn. Welcoming the pain, I couldn't help but smirk a little. The bad things are so addicting, aren't they?

I felt him kiss my cheek, and the smirk turned into a full-out grin (for once). Taking the cigarette out of my mouth, I held it loosely between my middle and ring fingers while breathing out a gray cloud of charred lungs and messed up addictives. I leaned back against his shoulder so that he could kiss my neck. Each breathy sigh I made contained nicotine, I could tell. But why does that matter? (I have no clue.)

I waited for the correct moment to strike on him, and when it came, I grabbed his hair so that he looked at me. Seeing my opportunity, I latched my mouth onto his. He tasted of smoke, which is surprisingly possible. I ran my fingers through his nice, blond hair. It used to be so much softer, back when he cared about things like that. Hell, who am I kidding. The most I do to my hair is put in more red dye every couple of months.

His teeth ran over my bottom lip, and I couldn't help but groan a little. My throat stung as I did so, but I still couldn't stop smiling. The pain was beautiful, certainly. The harder it is to breathe, the better. The hand around my neck felt so _right_ , and I was ready to just pass out right then and there. It would be such a good way to sleep, right?

Unfortunately, it ended too soon for that. He pulled back to get a drag of his cigarette, then leaned back on his heels. I sighed, the oxygen feeling a little too foreign in my lungs. "I love you," I whispered.

"'Love you too."

I hate those words so much, they're so overused, and are used to lie more than spread emotion. With that thought in mind, and I hate to say it, I started crying. I tried to hide it a little at first, but he noticed right away. I was so _tired_ that I sort of just let him put his arms around me. I don't even know why I was crying, but I know that it felt good.

"Aradia?"

I didn't want to talk. All I did was shake my head and allow the tears run down my red face. It became a little hard to breathe again, which was a relief.

"Do you.. need something?"

I shook my head again. "No, I'm fine."

"No, clearly you're not."

Well, I hadn't eaten in the 24 hours, but partly because I wasn't hungry and partly because I forgot. I wanted to fall asleep and not wake up while still living. Everything hurt and I am still enjoying that whole thing, even though it's extremely uncomfortable. It's just like pain is everywhere sometimes, and death is a solution. But death isn't a solution. Everyone - even someone half-smart - knows that.

I didn't feel like responding, so I just grabbed his arm tightly and put my hand in his. I could tell it hurt a little bit, based on the way he tensed up.

I hate this.

I hate this so much, I don't want to write anymore, I wish I could stop feeling all these emotions through the filter of nothingness. I hate how I kept crying. I hate everything.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"It's fine." His voice wavered slightly, like it hurt more inside than out.

I'm not sure why he does things like that, and I don't want to guess. I just know that my arms are clean and his aren't, but I'll leave that up to him.

Long story short, the entire day went by. We talked a little bit, searched our phones, smoked, cried, and kissed exactly the way that messed up kids like us do. I don't know how other people live happily, to be honest. The world is such a downer, and yet the teenages roaming the hallways are as happy as can be. Life itself is crumbling, but nobody cares.

Nobody except us.

Anyways, once the last bell rang we hurried out of the closet, ignoring some strange glances and snickers until we got on the bus.

"People are so disgusting," I had muttered.

He nodded and put his head on my shoulder.

As soon as we pulled up to his house, I slapped the forged bus note in the driver's hand (because apparently we're not allowed to go home with somebody without having a physically signed note).

The world is real messed up.

* * *

So yeah, that's pretty much it.

Currently, Mituna is downstairs, asleep at his computer with job applications still up. Their dad is still at a conference somewhere, probably a million miles away from here.

And he's here, next to me.

I'm here with him.

I don't think that he understands that he's my everything, which is a crazy cheesy thing to say.

I guess the next thing I'm going to say is even cheesier.

I love him.

(I _hate those words so much, they're so overused, and are used to lie more than spread emotion._ )

I don't like to lie much, so hopefully you can trust me when I say that I mean those words to be true.

Life's rough.

There's nothing much more to say.

Goodbye,

Aradia

* * *

 **Author's Note**

 _HI THATS IT ENJOY GUUSUGFHA_

 _OKAY LIKE ALWAYS UHH SUGGUSTIONS ARE FINEs_

 _SORRY IF I TRIGGERED ANYONE THERE ARE WARNINGS SO YAH_

 _UM_

 _IF YALL PERSUME TO KNOW BUT THERE IS A NOT UM WHAT AM I SAYING EVEN_

 _Oh caps locks is on i seriously didnt notice_

 _but yeah constructive critisism bitches_

 _thx_

 _count the amount of times i fucking swear in a goddamn bitchnugget authors note okay yah_

 _here is a good ass video to make people feel better because im nice._

 _Sam gave me the undertale thingy so here:_ _watch?v=AyzliDcLV2Q_

 _-Wirogmaraf_


	4. Cold Legs and Warm Lips (TAVROS)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Boo bitches. Happy Halloween. How was ya'lls Halloween?_

 _mine was pretty goooood._

 _guicci._

 _i went as sober gamzee :o)_

 _so this chapter was extremely interesting to write because it actually has a happy ending ig. it was also rEaLLy fUn ;)_

 _i dont know._

 _yoU know what's funny? I always write these author notes thingf rys in compelte and utter disgusitng English. Then once I actually write, shit gets real. Also, how do you write people yelling? Yee._

 _FYI read the ending author's notes, yee._

 _(this contains tavros x gamzee, dont like, dont read)_

 _Oh yeah, this is Tavros' chapter. Poor bb._

 _Here are sum trigger warnings because I dont want people getting triggered, because there will be MuRDEr chArgES._

TRIGGER WARNINGS

 _\- Anxiety_

 _\- Panic Attacks_

 _\- Abuse (in Relationships)_

 _\- Major Injury_

 _\- Paralysis_

 _\- Extreme mentions of rape/non-con_

 _-Drug references/high references_

 _-Kind of internalized homophobia_

 _-Sorta makeouts/smut? Like it would get to smut but I stopped it for relevance in the plot line? But the things actively mentioned have consent in them, just mentions of past rape as said before._

 _-Okay like it talks about violence a lot_

 _-A small reference to being drugged?_

 _-Offensive words to disabled people? I'm not sure. I don't condone those words though, I just use them in stories in order to make them more real and truthful to real life._

 _So those were the triggers._

 _Please read this I did so much research on paralysis and prosthetics. Too much for this to not be recognized. Also, I stan caring-brother Rufio. You can't tell me anything else Rufio would take great care of Tavros._

 _Please don't read if any of those things majorly trigger you._

 _As promised, here's a song to listen to:_

 _watch?v=080CFmpeWdM_

 _(I LOVE CAVETOWN)_

 _ENJOY BITCHES!_

* * *

Hello...

My name is Tavros. Nitram. You probably already know that though. I mean, I've been writing my name down in you for the past like... six years. Though has it really been six? I should probably start dating these entries, you know? Then again, I'm not smart enough to do that, and it would bother me too much if I started changing the formatting.

Speaking about formatting, more introductions. The more I rehearse my "backstory", the better I'll be off with other human beings, or at least Rufio says.

I'm crippled. I guess that's the right word to say, it's the one I get called the most often. What I'm really trying to say is that I don't have legs, or at least not anymore... Okay, well I _do_ have legs, just they're not my real ones. My real ones used to work, then they didn't. Now they're gone and replaced by these metal things that have all the same anatomy of an actual human leg except they aren't an actual human leg. They're also sort of silverish, and the rest of my skin is sort of tannish.

It's hard, it really is. No one realizes how much time and effort and all is put into having prosthetics.

For example, elevators. Everyone always takes the elevator from one floor to the next just because they're "tired", "in a hurry", or the worst, "just 'cause". I guess they aren't thinking about how I'm over here, and I legit _can't_ _walk_ (or at least I couldn't until about half a year after I got my prosthetics). Here's a piece of advice, if you're able-bodied, take the stairs. Thank you. It's not like I could just do that, and when I first didn't need the wheelchair, walking kind of hurt. Just stop clogging the elevators and make way for the crippled kid. It's not that hard.

It's also insane the amount of fear that goes into having prosthetics. It's harder to run. If I get jumped or whatever, I probably won't be able to get away so quickly because mine aren't made for running. They're made for walking just enough to live life, not to save a life.

This whole thing happened because of an ex. An ex-girlfriend, for your matter. She was messed up in the head, a little psycho, but I couldn't stop loving her, even though I wish I could. Everytime she'd hit me or grab me by the shirt so I can't get away from her when she makes out with me I would promise myself that that was it. I was done. However, everyime she'd cry or express regret I'd fall back in love with her all over again.

(she has a prosthetic arm, too! Isn't that sort of cool?)

Long story short, we were in a fight again, one of those fights that I always lost. I forgot exactly what it was about, probably something to do with her wanting to do something and I not obliging. That's what most of them were about, to be honest. Either that or me standing up to her when she taunted me. Basically, they always ended badly, and I was usually the one left bleeding afterwards.

Sometimes she'd have a "weapon", something she'd grab from her kitchen, and she'd use it against me. She'd cut me, bruise me, anything harmful that can possibly done to a person she'd do it.

This specific one involved something that I would like to say resembled a knife.

She was yelling, and yelling, and yelling, and I was crying, and crying, and crying. I was completely ready for it, ready for _anything_ (at least I thought so). When she thought I was about to fight back, she would grab me and kiss me until I literally couldn't breathe and was almost blacking out under her grip.

Sometime during all this, it happened. I had given up, and she was hitting me just as usual, just the way that I wasn't supposed to let her but did anyway. Then _something_ happened and it hurt. I didn't know what hurt at first, but I just knew that I felt pain in a way that I had never felt it before. I had screamed, louder and more broken than I ever had before, and I guess she realized she had done something. She immediately let go of me so that I fell to the ground, and then buried her face in her hands.

I remember feeling so much _pain_ that I thought I was dying. In fact, I thought I _was_ dead. I just kept breathing though, each breath coming out strangled and forced. Then it all went numb, in a way. Everything below my waist started to become non-existent. Everything else burned, but my legs felt invisible. The next thing I knew I was crying again.

She had uncovered her face and looked at me in a way I can't describe. All I know is that she sat down on the floor next to me and muttered, "I'm sorry."

I didn't respond. I physically couldn't. All I was thinking about was how the hell would I explain this to Rufio, and how to make the pain and nothingness stop. Finally, through stinging and laboured breaths, I was able to utter her name.

"Vriska."

She looked at me. "What?"

I shook my head, I couldn't speak in that exact moment. Her face had become a little more concerned, but more for herself and what her punishments would be than for me. "Oh c'mon," she sighed. "Whatever I did couldn't be that bad, right? It's not _that_ bad, I'm sure. Just get up and go home or something.

"Vriska."

She had rolled her eyes. " _What_?!"

"I can't move my legs."

I could hear her breath shake. She was scared, I knew it. I knew she was terrified. I knew that I needed to get home or go to a goddamn hospital or _something_. I knew that I wasn't okay.

Skipping forward in time, it was a spinal cord injury. Those can mess you up. It was confirmed that I was paralyzed and Rufio seemed ready to kick her ass. In fact, he might of if I hadn't told him not to.

I can't really blame her though, you know? She's pretty messed up in the head, and I'm an idiot to begin with. That's not her fault. Hell, I had it coming.

I had to amputate in fear of the risk of infections and blood clots, and I also just didn't want to be in a wheelchair for my entire life. I knew that if I amputated successfully I could get prosthetics, which I thought were heaven at the time. What I didn't realize was how complicated they are. It took me around half a year with them on until I could actually walk in them. I once was being ignorant and tried stairs right after I learned how to walk again.

I fell. Big suprise.

Here's a fun fact: prosthetics need to be replaced every 3-5 years. I just got new ones over the summer, but they look pretty much the same. It would be a miracle if someone noticed.

There's also this weird thing I heard about called phantom limbs and phantom limbs pain. It's basically when a limb is gone but you can still feel its pain. For me, I just feel a mixture of burning and cramping. It's not as bad as others', but that doesn't mean that it's not bad. It feels like I messed up my spinal cord all over again.

Anyways, today is the first day of junior year. I dislike school solely for the fact that I know that something is always going to go down. I never know when it's going to be _me_ that gets beat up, or made fun of, or _me_ who does something stupid on impulse. I also never know when I'm going to run into _her_.

Rufio has been telling me that I'm going to do fine. He's been telling me this all summer. Everyday he's been sitting me down and telling me how insanely brave I am and all, and how I shouldn't let anyone come in my way. He calls me "amazing" and "strong" and "loved", but maybe that's from his point of view. From my point of view, it's all eyes. All I see are eyes looking at me then quickly looking away, almost as if they are afraid that by looking at me they will be burned. I see eyes conveying emotions of fear and curiosity. I see so much, but hear so little. The only positive words I ever hear are from Rufio.

I can't blame them, though. No one cares about the crippled kid, except for the fact that he's crippled.

He tells me I'm so amazing, but sometimes I have to question his reasoning, only to find that he's speaking empty words.

Okay, okay. School. School is what I'm talking about here.

As soon as I arrived, I could feel the eyes on my back, burning holes through my skin. None of them really stung, however. Nothing really hurt until I saw her.

She had looked at me as if I was pathetic, which I for sure am. Her gaze felt almost as sharp as whatever she had stabbed me with. I could suddenly feel the burning in my legs again, as if they still existed. It felt like they were on fire.

I had picked up my pace, heading to my locker, feeling my heart rate increase as well as the ghostly pain. My head raced, my palms started to sweat, and my eyes began to water. _Not now_ , I had thought. _It's just a girl. I'm fine_.

I wasn't fine, though. Deep down I knew I wasn't. But at that moment, passing everything off as okay was the best I could do.

I soon found my locker and shoved my pre-bought textbooks in it. I kept my head down low as the stares of the other students started to press into me. I felt suffocated, and it was becoming harder to breath. God, even _seeing_ her had started off a chain reaction of anxiety. The burning sensation wasn't letting up, and soon it was enough that I was ready to collapse to the ground.

I shut my locker and leaned against it for a moment before heaving my backpack onto my shoulder and stumbling through the halls. I remember feeling tears trail down my face, tears that I didn't even notice were falling until they reached my mouth and I could taste the salty coolness. I kept my head down even more until I determined that I couldn't take it anymore.

I had turned into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind me. Locking myself in a stall, I had placed my head in my hands as they became soaked with tears dripping down my numb face. The burning made me sweat, and so did the humidity in the bathroom. My breath became shallow, and soon I was gasping for air. It was all like dominos. Once something made me freak out, it made me _freak out_ , if that makes any sense.

I thought of Rufio, but it didn't help. I thought of calling him, but the thought of it was kind of sad. I am nearly 17, it would be a little depressing for a 17 year old to be calling his older brother to help him through an anxiety attack. Instead I just let it live itself out. It felt sort of good: crying. It was refreshing, but overwhelming. I wanted to be both enveloped in it and have it be over with.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." a voice muttered.

My throat had closed up. I wanted to respond, but I couldn't speak.

"Do you need something?"

 _Why is someone here?_ I thought. _How could I have not noticed anyone?_

I managed to mumble, "I don't know."

"You sound like you're dying, motherfucker. Don't die. I'm gonna be placed with fucking murder charges."

I snorted. My heart was both slowing down and speeding up at the same time. It sort of hurt.

"Just come out, okay? I want to know what motherfucker I'm talking to."

My breath shook. After a moment, I was able to find enough strength to unlock the stall door. Once it was unlocked, I covered my face and started to make a dash for it. Right when I thought I could throw open the door and rush to first period, the guy grabbed me by the wrist. I looked back at him, mind racing as my vision sort of closed in and my breathing hitched up again and more tears spilled down my face. I wanted to pull away, but I just couldn't.

The boy, I recognized him. He's also a junior, mind you. I was never really close to him, though. We were never in any classes with each other, so he was sort of irrelevant to me. That is, until that moment.

In that current moment, I noticed he was fairly attractive. Not _very_ attractive, but just enough to be noticed. For that reason only or for the fact that there was an actual human being standing in front of me while I was breaking down, I started hyperventilating.

"Holy shit, calm down."

It wasn't that easy.

"Take a goddamn breath."

I was _trying_.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Well no fucking _shit_.

Once he got the hint that I didn't want to respond to him, he stopped talking for a moment or so and just looked down. I thought for a second that he was staring at my prosthetics, but he seemed to just be staring at his own shoes. That was a first.

I took a moment to catch my breath before putting my face back in my hands. I didn't want to look at him, I just _couldn't_. He just stood there, looking down. I wanted to say something, but the only thing that came out was, "I'm sorry."

"No."

There was a silence. I expected for him to say something else, but it turned out that was all he wanted to say. Just _no_.

"Sometimes my mind just goes on overdrive," I stated for no other reason than the fact that I wanted to.

He laughed strangely. "Minds are really fucked up. Some more than others. You good, though? Is your motherfucking mind a little more mellow?"

I shrugged. My voice had gone away again because I had noticed that his eyes were the exact same color as hazelnuts.

"What's your name?"

I swallowed whatever was choking me. "Tavros."

All of a sudden, he had grabbed onto my hand, and my heart leaped. I looked at him questionably, trying to keep my calm because d _amn his hand was nice_.

"You looked scared again," he explained, "It's just 'somethin my old best friend used to do, you know? When things go wrong, you just hold on to someone else. It's a little bit more comforting, I think. Maybe it'll work for you, Tavbro?"

It kinda didn't. It made me a little more uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable in the sense of nervous, that is. His hand was warm, and I liked that. It connected me to him in a way that I didn't know I needed. Although the whole situation was extremely uncomfortable, it was still slightly comforting in the worst way possible, so I didn't let go.

"What's your name?"

"Gamzee."

I nodded, and then it hit me. I realized exactly who he was, and it made me sick.

In sixth grade or so, a kid had somehow gotten addicted to drugs or whatever. Rumors were he went crazy and killed someone or something. I don't believe the second part so much, but the first seemed a lot more believable. I remember seeing him and that other kid... Karkat? Karkat. Him and that other kid Karkat would sometimes be sitting outside somewhere, ditching class. And I swear to God, he looked insane. His eyes were wild and his hair was tangled, and his life seemed to be falling apart. I would sometimes hear him talking to Karkat in the most crazed way possible, as if it would tear his vocal cords if he said one more word. One day I stopped seeing them together and Gamzee just seemed to be getting higher and higher everyday.

Although his eyes were softer, his hair slightly better groomed, and his voice deeper and smooth as silk, I still knew that he was the same terrifying person as he was before. I wanted to just disappear.

Then it dawned on me.

That's why he was being so nice to me, I had thought. He was so high that he didn't realize how stupid the kid standing in front of him really was. He thought I was normal, and I thought he was crazy. Perfect.

"Are you high?"

The question had came out of my mouth before I could even think about what I was about to ask. His smile deflated a little and his grip on my hand loosened. I felt a sinking sensation in my gut, and suddenly my vision was blurry with tears again. _Shit_.

"Does it matter?"

I shrugged. "A little bit. It makes you different." I cursed myself internally.

"How so, Tavbro?"

My heart hurt. "Your opinions may be different, I don't know."

He scoffed. "My _opinions_? I don't think I've said any motherfucking thing that's all that _opinionated_ , have I? Plus, high or not, I think I still know that you don't deserve to be crying. Or that you're a pretty cool motherfucker. Or that even," he paused. "I know, high or not, that those new prosthetics you've got, they're fucking amazing."

I cringed, and my heart skipped a beat. "How the _hell_ do you know that they're new?"

"They're different than last time," he smiled painfully again.

I had exhaled. "That's a creep move."

He didn't speak for a solid second. I was prepared to run back out of the bathroom, but his next words held me back. "'Don't make me a creep for noticing something extra about a stranger, does it? It just makes the stranger a little stranger than the others, a little more special, a little more beautiful. That can't be all that bad, can it?"

I snorted, and it came out sort of pathetically. "Special? Beautiful? That's...that's sad." My heart began to flutter and I had to look away from him.

"Nothing sad about it. You're just kind of beautiful, is that bad to say?"

I shrugged, a blush forming on my cheeks. "Still a creep move," I smiled, a laugh crawling into the back of my throat.

"At least I'm not lying," he grinned back (his smile was just _marvelous_ to say the least). "I'm just saying what I'm thinking."

I became really, truly breathless.

He was suddenly closer.

"You sure do think some strange things."

"It would just make sense for a stranger to think strange thoughts."

My eyelids seemed heavy and half of my body felt numb. "I don't know how to respond to that."

"You certainly don't have to, motherfucker."

His grip tightened on my hand, and then his lips were an inch from mine. I could almost taste whatever drugs he was on, and a sudden addiction to him was formed. I wanted to lean into him, but shit that's gay.

But who cares?

His other hand came up to my jaw. His touch was soft and gentle, much more calming than I thought someone like him would be able to do. His breath felt warm against mine, and everything else seemed so small. I could practically feel his heart against my own as his bottom lip skimmed mine, sending shivers down my spine. I was ready to collapse.

Before we could actually go in for anything, he leaned back out of it, letting go of my hand. "Ohhhhh-kay," he had sighed. "We should probably be getting to class. Right, motherfucker?"

I couldn't breathe. However, I managed to mutter out a flabbergasted, "Really?"

"Really. I'm not gonna be motherfucking late on the first day. You've got to establish a presence, you know?"

I remember everything feeling a sort of heavy that I have never felt before. I was suddenly noticing everything there is to notice about him: how his jaw connected to his neck, how his hair parted at exactly the right spot, and even down to how his shirt was a size too large on him. I could feel the blood rushing in my head and hear it in my ears, and I wanted to pass out once again.

I really wanted to kiss him.

I'm not sure where that feeling necessarily came from, but I knew that it was there.

But instead I just sort of shrugged and muttered, "Yeah."

He smiled and I thought I was dead. "Have a good day."

"You too," my voice cracked.

And then he walked out. Just like that. I was left shaking slightly, with a smile forming on my lips. I wanted a connection. I wanted something stronger than any sort of force on earth. I wanted not to _feel_ love, but to let love feel _me_. I wanted him, even if everything in my head was telling me otherwise. Love sucks. Love never works out. People's hearts join for a short amount of time in the history of earth, then they die. Either that, or their love breaks like a snapped bone, and becomes unmendable, such as my chopped-off legs. But the thing that makes me different than people such as Eridan Ampora is my hope. I _hope_ d I could get him. So I set my heart out on it.

Walking into class, I remember seeing eyes glued to me. Yet somehow, that fact calmed me down. Instead of throwing a fit and all, I just exhaled and claimed a seat. For once, I saw people instead of eyes (it was selfish of me, I think. Selfish to think that by looking at me, someone is a bad person. There are human beings behind eyes, with real thoughts and feelings. Although none of them know any of this pain I go through _every day_ , I know that they all aren't focusing their lives on making fun of the boy with prosthetics. And if they _are_ , well, that's more of their problem, not mine).

I could feel his breath still lingering on my lips, calming my nerves and anxiety. I didn't feel any sort of need to call Rufio, which is progress.

(Maybe all this could be a progress, perhaps.

A progress to hell or heaven.)

It feels weird to be falling head-first into feelings with someone you know you shouldn't be with. He's insane. He's the kind of person that people will go out of their way to stay away from. But then again, maybe it's because he's a stranger and they're just scared. Maybe, like he said, maybe he's a little stranger than the rest. But then again, he held my hand when I was crying, the hand of someone he had just met. That was way more than Vriska has ever done for me. I wasn't used to it, which might be why it felt so special. Perhaps I was falling for the idea of simple humanity more than I was falling for him. Even so, humanity isn't a terrible thing to fall for.

Long story short, I proudly made it through the day without any other anxiety or panic attacks. It felt nice. I could breathe.

I could even breathe once I stepped outside to catch the bus, despite all the pollen in the air. It was loud, but I felt alright for once.

Then I saw him.

I saw him among everyone else, and he seemed like a normal person. Before I actually knew what I was doing, I had ran over to him.

"Gamzee!"

He had turned to me, and for a moment I was afraid that I was somehow unrecognizable, despite the fact that he had seen me just hours before. Demolishing my interior concerns, he replied, "Hey, Tavbro," with a smile. My heart skipped a beat.

"How was the rest of the day?"

He shrugged. "It was fine. 'Must of been to high last night to remember to pack all those simple school supplies, though. That was kind of shitty. But it was all otherwise good, you?"

I found a small grin forming on my lips. "Actually pretty good for once." I paused. "Thanks for this morning. It helped."

"Glad I could help a motherfucker out." His voice made me want to scream, cry, and kiss him all at the same time, and I'm not even sure why. Hell, the universe probably isn't sure why. I just wanted to do all three things, at once preferably. I also sort of wanted to tell him that. I looked at him, and admired his features, ignoring how actually _gay_ that is because who even cares anymore, and let the word vomit just spill from my mouth.

"I really would like to, um, really place my lips on yours... your lips and move them in a way in such like I was eating but romantically," was what came out of my mouth. It came out so quickly, that I swear the entire painful statement was over in less than a second.

He had looked at me strangely, and I could feel my anxiety levels rising from this morning. "What?"

I felt as if I was choking. Again. God _damnit_ my emotions could change quickly. The pollen certainly wasn't helping. I guess he noticed something was off, for he grabbed my hand tightly and started leading me off somewhere. I allowed him to take me wherever he was going, because his hand was warm (as before) and felt as if it was the only right thing in the world. Eventually I had been led to the back of the school, against a solid brick wall which I expected belonged to one of the music rooms.

His grip on my hand didn't let up as he asked, "Sorry if something scared you, motherfucker. But could you please repeat yourself? If possible?"

I shook my head. "It was so stupid," I'd muttered, laughing bitterly.

"Couldn't be."

I rolled my eyes, my heart finally out of my throat. "Trust me, it really is. It was basically like..." I hesitated. "...Basically like continuing whatever was about to happen before first period. But in a real messed up way."

It all suddenly went silent.

Realizing that I had just confessed the fact that I wanted to kiss him, I had exhaled and changed the subject. "So. Um, why did you bring me here exactly?"

He shrugged, ignoring what I had previously said as if I had never said it. "You seemed scared again. I go here a lot when I like to be alone. It's the most hidden part of the school, you can do practically _anything_ here, motherfucker," he glanced over at me and sort-of smirked. My heart skipped a beat.

"So this is... like... where you take drugs or something?"

He started laughing slightly. Slightly enough to make the conversation not descend to hell. "Sometimes. It's a fairly nice place to do so."

"I guess."

I didn't speak for a solid moment. I just sat there, letting the crisp wind caress my face. My hair was being brushed back lightly, and my lungs felt as if they were being cleaned. I realized that I was still holding on to his hand, but I didn't mind it. Then I thought of something. I looked over at him, and a sudden feeling of guilt and dread began to mix in the pit of my stomach.

"You didn't just take me here to have me do drugs, right? Like... you haven't been doing all these nice things just to mess with me, correct?"

"No."

His answer was firm, but I still didn't feel convinced.

"It would make a hell of a lot of sense. This is just some kind of way to use me or whatever." Not wanting to say it out loud, I thought to myself, _I_ knew _I shouldn't have trusted the addict_.

His grip on my hand loosened. "I haven't been tricking you or anything, okay? Just believe me. Please."

"How do I know that?" The air was too cold, I realized.

"I'm not sure. But I don't have anything on me right now. I'm not going to do something terrible, okay motherfucker? Even if I was, why would I pick _you_?"

I shrugged. "Because I'm different?"

"Fuck being different. All I did was try to make you stop crying, and try to stop you _from_ crying. You think I'm making you fall into a trap?"

Everything began to burn. "Well I'm not sure! This whole thing could just be a set up! A set up for me to get high and do whatever you want me to do. It's as simple as that."

I could hear him take a breath. Then quietly, he said, "Most people aren't like that, you know."

I looked at him for the first time since we got to where we were. "What do you mean?"

"Most people aren't messed up enough to do all that shit. Most people are nicer than that."

"But some aren't."

He sighed. "But so _what_?! Just believe me when I say I'm not one of those motherfuckers. I'm not going to hit you. Or kill you."

Breathing hurt more than it was supposed to, but it made me feel stronger than when air reached my lungs effortlessly. "That's not what I'm really talking about."

"Okay," he muttered in a strange way such as I am either unable to describe or couldn't care less to. "You think I'm going to like _rape_ you or something? Is that what you're so afraid of?"

I shook my head awkwardly. "You never know."

His gripped strengthened slightly. "Well I'm not 'gonna."

And for a moment, I believed him. I truly, really believed him. But then skepticism kicked back in and I doubted everything again.

"I want to believe you."

"And you can!"

I let out my breath that I didn't even realize I was holding in the first place. I was unsure if his statements made me more or less worried.

"Also, motherfucker," he added on, "you said yourself that you wanted to continue 'whatever was happening' between us. You're basically saying that you have consent."

I shrugged awkwardly. "But it's different. Even if I _do_ want something to happen, it's different when the other person involved doesn't give a damn. Like if this was all planned without actually... knowing... that I wanted for this to, um, happen."

He clasped his hands together, letting go of mine. I instantly felt bad for admitting my fears. "Alright. Yes, kissing you would be great, but that's not why the hell I brought you here. Plus, if you're scared or whatever, I'm not going to make you." He leaned in slightly. "And motherfucker, if I really _was_ a rapist or what, wouldn't I have already done something? I wouldn't be talking to you, right?"

Something broke inside of me.

She would talk. A lot. All she'd do was talk and make me trust her once again before shoving her pretty mouth against mine and kicking me against the nearest wall so that I'd have nowhere to go. Then she'd do whatever the hell she wants. She'd do whatever she wants for as long as she wants, and at a point I guess I gave up. My body became her's and although it was wrong, I would always think it was right. I would think that maybe that was her way of saying she loves me, but that's not true. She didn't love me, she _never_ loved me. She loved the thought of having someone to punch and fuck, I think. I just happened to be the one standing in front of her.

"...Oh." Gamzee's voice surprised me for whatever reason.

"Hm?" My voice wavered.

"I guess that wasn't the right thing to say."

"It's okay."

He sighed. "No. No it sort of isn't. I don't know much about... what I'm saying is... you..."

"-You don't need to apologize. You haven't done anything."

"I've scared you," he said, voice sounding a little strained.

"It's _fine_! You just said something that wasn't correct, we all make fucking mistakes!" I cried out, sudden volume coming out of nowhere.

He didn't respond.

We just locked eyes and stared at one another. Fear met dismal as did a fleeting idea, the idea being that people can lie, promise, and beg for trust easily. However, to look someone in their eyes, through their soul, and to apologize for a randomly caused thought of worry cannot be faked.

Without thinking (since that is what seems to mess me up the most), I threw my arms around him. He hesitated, then embraced me. I dug my face into his shoulder and exhaled, blinking away unneeded tears. He was was tall and warm, and his hair tickled my ear. I could feel his chest, how it lifted as he breathed, and the beating of his heart. He was human. I guess that's all the convincing I needed.

Letting go of him, I leaned back. I leaned back and let the tension build, as so the silence. My heart began to race in my chest. I could feel my pulse circulating through my entire body, and I knew exactly what I had to do.

Falling into him, slowly at first, I began to redo everything that had happened that morning. The half-lidded eyes, the way our heads turned so that our lips were able to fit together. His hand shakily made its way to the small of my back, and I felt secure. The next thing I knew our lips were locked and my hands were at his face.

I'm not really sure how to _describe_ kissing. It's mostly just putting your mouths together and moving them. But there's always something there, always a hint of want and love and desire. It's like eating somebody without actually eating them (for that would be something else). And at that current moment, the only thing I knew was that he was right there, and I wasn't objecting.

Softly and slowly, I started moving my mouth. He caught on, and we were kissing. I'm not sure why that surprised me as much as it did, probably because he was a g _uy and I was a guy and it's gay_.

I didn't care then, I guess. All I cared about was the fact that he tasted like grapes. Not like real grapes, but like the grape lollipops I used to get at the bank when I was a real little kid. He tasted nostalgic. He tasted like home.

It began to all speed up. His hand moved slightly downwards, and I began biting at his lip without even noticing it. My hands ran through his hair, it was actually pretty soft. I would always expect for someone like him to be rough all over. His hair stiff with dandruff, skin cracked, and eyes burning with a passion to maim. But there, I guess I was wrong. He seemed... neat. It felt as if I was kissing an angel, if that makes sense. Everywhere he touched me felt holy, even if none of it was asked for by any sort of god. It wasn't until his tongue was legitimately tangled in with mine did it actually settle in.

 _It's not right_.

No, by no wish by any god or hope or guardian would I be standing there kissing him. _Him_. Somebody with veins emptied of drugs and tears dripping with chemicals. Somebody who used to skip classes to get high. Somebody who almost went so insane that there are rumors of death at his fault.

But somehow, that's not what bothered me the most. What bothered me the most was the fact that his body was full of testosterone and that he was a he and his voice was low and his features were sharp and that he w _as a boy_.

Immediately my mind went to Rufio, my only source of protection. I wondered how the hell he would treat me if he found out that not only was I kissing a boy but that I think I was _enjoying_ it.

Without thinking, I pushed him away and covered my face. My heart rate felt unhealthy and everything went to my head. I felt dizzy with shock and a little fear, and all I wanted to do was erase everything. _Every single thing_. I wanted for every wrong to be righted and every thought to be corrected instead of corrupted, and I wanted for everything to stop being so _bad_.

Through my broken breaths, I heard him choke on seemingly nothing. "Holy shit! Take a fucking breath!" he called out.

But I couldn't. I really couldn't. Everything hurt and I thought I was going to die. Hell no, I was certain of it. I didn't know any last words, I just felt death and all around and wondered exactly how to surrender to it.

"Jesus Christ, motherfucker!" he exclaimed, and my heart actually stung. It hurt so bad. "What happened?" I felt his hand on my shoulder, and as I tried to move away, I felt the loss of comfort and the return of cold, proper loneliness. I only realized there were tears down my face once my taste buds picked up their salty sensation. I gagged.

"Are you okay-"

" _NO_!" I screamed. "Obviously fucking _not_!"

"Tavros, what do you ne-"

"I don't know!" I really didn't. "This is just... this is just wrong, okay?! It's all just wrong! You're a fucking crazed boy and so am I and if my brother finds out... if he finds out I'm done for, okay?! I'm dead!"

"Your brother...?"

I teared my hands away from my face. " _Yes_! Once he does my life is pretty much over! He'll kill me! And not to mention you!"

He grabbed my hands lightly. "Forget about your brother, he can't do shit! Besides, what's morally wrong about any of this?"

"He can do _all the shit he wants_! You don't fucking know him! If he knows that I... that I kissed a... that I like fucking guys he'll _murder_ me! Chain me against a wall and slit my throat and just fucking _kill me_! Oh my lord please just kill me!"

I wish I wasn't joking on the last part.

"Tavros... Just take a breath-"

" _STOP!_ He'll yell at me and yell and yell and y _ell and yell and yell and yell and yell and don't you understand how fucking terrifying that is_?!"

It got quiet.

He didn't respond.

The tension hurt more than I thought it would.

My breathing came in clumps, it burned my lungs.

Finally he opened his mouth and said, "No. No I don't know. But something I do know is that it's just you and me. _Just_ you and me. And no one needs to know about anything. Also, if he's really your brother, your true heart-to-heart brother, he wouldn't care. He would care about you being happy. If he doesn't, maybe he never really cared at all."

I could feel my pulse only in my wrists again. The ringing in my ears went away. I could breathe slightly better.

Rufio.

Rufio did love me. He always acted like he did, and never got mad at me. Perhaps he wouldn't get mad this time either.

"You don't need to tell him."

 _I don't_.

I shut my mind off as he put his hand back on my shoulder and leaned in slightly. His lips skimmed mine again and I felt almost relaxed. He began to kiss me extremely softly in a way I didn't know was possible.

But still.

I leaned back a little and took a full breath. My lungs felt real again, and I thought perhaps I could make something work. Perhaps I could kiss someone without being scared.

It was a yes or no choice, in that moment. There were no other options. Yes or no.

I chose yes.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I dived back into him. I enjoyed the sweet feeling of life against my lips and the way he moved his own. I enjoyed the sensation of his eyelashes brushing ever so softly against my cheek, and how our breath seemed to be joined almost automatically.

I enjoyed it.

The first thing I really, truly thought was none of this, though. It was in fact how different everything was from Vriska. While she would find no segway into things and go at me as if I was her prey, he went slowly at first before actually committing to anything. Her hands would tug at any article of clothing I had on even when I would beg her to stop, but he played with my hair instead of my fear. She would pause while kissing me to insult me, most of the time. While here he was, only pulling back to breathe.

I felt safe for once.

I leaned more into him, retangling our tongues once again. I put a hand on his jaw and felt the way it moved and how each joint connected and I felt overwhelmed with sudden feeling.

His hands lifted off of my shoulders. One went to hold one of mine. His palm felt nice, as before. It was warm, he was warm, and soft, and lovely. His other hand lowered more to the small of my back. He changed the pace very slightly, but not slightly enough.

I pulled back really quickly. "This...is really... good..." I said between kisses.

He hummed quietly as a response. I felt butterflies in my stomach. After a moment, he leaned back and looked at me. His eyes were dark as oakwood, and held a drop of lust. "I hate to repeat myself but you _are_ really beautiful."

My heart skipped a beat.

Instead of going for my mouth, he this time went for my neck. He began to bite softly at it, leaving faint hickeys and causing me to have to bite my lip so I wouldn't make noise. I sort of failed, however, for a let some sort of whine out that made him stop for a moment until he realized nothing was wrong and proceeded to continue.

I wanted for it all to pick up more, so I tucked my hands under his shirt and ran them up his sides, feeling him shiver underneath my touch. He eventually went back to my mouth, and I felt as if I was going insane. I bit at his lip as if to tell him to do something else. I guess he understood, because the next thing I knew he had me against a wall and had removed his mouth from mine again. "Is this good?" he asked breathlessly.

I nodded. However, in my head I knew it wasn't good enough.

Before I could think of anything, I had grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in for more kisses. I melted into his arms, groaning into his lips, as if that would do anything. Before I knew it, his hands were both at my hips and his knee was in between my legs and it all felt s _o fucking good I just couldn_ _'t_.

Then we stopped.

We both mutually stopped. We looked at each other, and I knew that whatever I wanted before I couldn't get, or at least at that moment.

I let go of him.

"I should probably...um... go home."

He nodded, looking down. "Oh. Yeah. Same. Do you need a ride or something?"

I shook my head. "I live nearby, it shouldn't be too hard just to walk.

There was a pause in the conversation. It felt like a dip in the universe.

"Oh," he eventually said. "Alright."

"How about you?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'll find a way home."

"Couldn't you just ask your dad or someone to drive you?"

He laughed sadly. "My dad? No. He's a bit crazy, not that great of a driver."

"Don't you have a brother?"

"Kurloz. Yeah. But I'd rather just wait for the late bus or some shit. He's a little..." he hesitated. "Different."

I sighed. "Different? Like, disabled or something?"

"No. Just different. He tends to scare off people."

I rolled my eyes. " _Scare off_ people? Jesus, people are so judgmental."

He laughed, genuinely this time. "No."

I looked at him questionably, wondering what in living hell he was talking about. "Why-"

"Good _bye_ Tavros," he grinned.

I would've asked more if his smile didn't shut me up in almost-love.

* * *

The second I got home I was greeted by Rufio. I suddenly felt heavy with guilt and my stomach felt nauseous.

"Hey, Tav, how was it? You good?" he asked, as always.

"Um..." I choked on air. "-Yeah. Yeah it was all good."

He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem all good."

Word vomit came out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. I told him of my doings without actually meaning to. " _I kissed a guy_!"

There was silence.

I was prepared to die.

The silence hurt and I felt tears coming to my eyes and life felt terrible once again. But instead, his reaction was softly spoken words instead of loud yells or slaps (which could've been the worst. I always prepare for the worst).

"...On purpose?"

I nodded, for I couldn't find the strength to speak. My throat had closed up.

There was more jarring silence, before he started chuckling. "Jesus Christ, Tav." I looked at him, wondering if there was something wrong. It seemed as if there was something wrong.

"Jesus Christ. You're already getting action on the first goddamn day of school. Good job," he laughed, before nodding at me and heading upstairs.

I don't really know why, but the smile on my face felt like the first real expression of joy I had shown in a while. It felt good. It felt healthy.

I felt happy.

-[tavros]-

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _Ew. That ending XD_

 _SO._

 _I hope you enjoyed, reviews are appreciated. I might add actual smut between these two characters later on. That would be fun lol._

 _My school just finished our fall production :( im a lil sad not gonna lie._

 _Alright so I think it had a pretty positive ending but I said that therel l be a happy video thing ig at the end of every chapter to take this:_

 _watch?v=viE3JS5gaA0_

 _I ALWAYS LAUGH AT THIS VIDEO SINCE 2010. ITS BEEN 8 YEARS. JEGUS CHRIST._

 _OKAY._

 _SEE YALL._

 _I RELALLY GOTTA TAKE A PISS_

 _BYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

 _-Wirogmaraf_


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